A little creek ran along the side of my parents’ first house on Grantwood Road in Parma and I remember in the winter being all bundled up and my dad pulling the little sled as we got some fresh air and in the summer he picked thumb sized blackberries from the field behind the house. My mother poured milk over the berries as a treat.
In my last year of high school my parents bought a house within walking distance of Euclid Creek Reservation and I spent a fair amount of time walking through the park. My friends complained when I led them along the creek because their skimpy flats were hardly appropriate.
If there was no one to go along, I went alone and walked through trails in Muir Woods or Mt. Tamalpais in California and I took a sketch pad and water colors along to record bits and pieces. I loved finding beautiful spots and when my newly married sister and brother-in-law came west I took them out to see what I thought was so lovely. When we arrived at a spot I was particularly excited about my sister said, You dragged us all this way to see this? After that she always called me “…a damn mountain goat!”
After recently experiencing how aging and arthritis have curtailed my agility and mobility, it was with a sense of loss I had to tell her my days as mountain goat are over.